


The Necessity of Sacrifice

by wallhaditcoming



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Character Death, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Erik, Unhappy Ending, fullmetal alchemist spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallhaditcoming/pseuds/wallhaditcoming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago, Charles Xavier broke the taboo surrounding human transmutation to try and bring back the girl he thought of as his sister.  Now he will stop at nothing to return Hank, his brother in all but blood, to his body and to regain his own legs.  Even if doing so means becoming a dog of the military, a State Alchemist.</p>
<p>Being the Good Shepard Alchemist has its perks.  Especially in his commanding officer, Colonel Erik Lehnsherr.  If he could only trust Erik's motives, things might be perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Necessity of Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [XMRB Prompt 1022](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/27368) by cosmiko_ling. 



> Written as a pinch hit for round 2 of the XMRB and was inspired by the lovely art by cosmiko_ling over on lj, which you can find above. I went with set one, as you can see.
> 
> Title comes from an FMA Brotherhood quote which I would put in the story if not for the fact that it was in the finale and I don't want to spoil people who haven't watched it. That being said, I'm not sure how understandable this fic will be to that audience, but if you chose to read I hope you enjoy and that things aren't too confusing.
> 
> The following is a fusion, and thus contains spoilers for the first 10 or so episodes of FMAB. Also, as a result of it being a fusion, there are several character deaths and, less seriously, cameos from a few characters in the larger marvel universe.

Charles woke gasping as he so often did, burying his face in his hands and taking deep breaths, or at least as deep as he could manage given the circumstances.  He threw the sheet off the bed and stared down at his automail legs, a reminder to himself that the dream was not the present.

A warm hand rubbed soothing circles across his back, his bedmate sitting up as well as Charles fought to get his breathing back under control.

“Bad dream?” the rough voice asked beside him.

Charles let out a sound that was more sob than laugh, ashamed of allowing himself to be this vulnerable, here of all places.  Of all the places he could act the child everyone so often called him, why did it have to be here?

Seemingly sensing his train of thought, the Iron Blood Alchemist leaned close and pressed a kiss to the area just under his jaw, his stubble scraping along Charles’ shoulder in a way that made him shudder.

“We all dream, Charles,” Erik said between kisses as he worked his way down Charles’ neck.  “But it was just that.  A dream.”

The terrible, half-formed figure in the transmutation circles flashed behind his eyes again.

“Oh, how I wish it was,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to banish the memory.

* * *

 

Raven and Hank were Charles’ siblings; for all that neither was related to him by blood.  All three of them grew up together, playing every day and fighting just as often.  When Charles started learning alchemy to grow closer to the father he hadn’t seen in years—and, a small part of him hoped, to bring his mother out of the depression that was slowly eating her away until all that remained was an alcohol-filled shell of the woman she used to be—Hank followed suit enthusiastically.

Raven found the actual practice of alchemy, the science behind the art, tiresome.  But she loved to watch them preform it and treasured the doll they managed to transmute together for her more than any other present she received that year.

The years passed and they all grew older but while not everything was perfect--Charles’  mother fading away more and more, Hank’s parents killed at Ishval--they were close enough, and they had each other.

Until suddenly they didn’t.

Three became two in the wake of a terrible illness and while Hank wept as he lay on the grave, Charles stood beside him, stone faced.

Charles would not lose what little family he had left, taboo be damned.

“We’re going to get her back, Hank,” he vowed.

Of all his regrets, keeping that promise was his greatest.

For the present.

* * *

 

Charles slid out of bed early the next morning, exhausted and sore.  The soreness he relished, for the same reason he had no qualms about a portion of his sleeplessness.  If he could attribute it all to a night of Erik’s enthusiastic ministrations, he would be the happier for it.

He dressed quickly and quietly, trying not to disturb Erik in the bed beside him.  For all that everyone thought the Colonel a womanizing, lazy, lie-about, Charles knew better.  Erik had plans.  Ambitious plans.  Plans that required much forethought and subtle maneuvering and manipulation.  Plans that, by their very nature, could not be made during daylight hours.  Erik, Charles knew, needed every moment of sleep he could get.

The womanizing didn’t bother Charles. It wasn’t as if they’d made each other promises.  And it was clearly part of the persona Erik had so carefully cultivated to serve his own agenda.

There were a lot of things, Charles thought with a heavy heart and a tight chest, rubbing at the mark Erik had sucked into his skin last night, that Erik would do to serve his agenda. 

He tugged his over-shirt on, being sure to position his collar so that it hid the mark.  Erik was risking a great deal by taking Charles to bed, he knew.  The eleven years between them was enough to raise eyebrows, but that wasn’t what was worrisome.  Erik was his commanding officer, technically speaking; for all that he left Charles to his own devices more often than not.  If they were discovered it could set his plans back considerably, if not derail them entirely.

Charles wondered exactly what it was that Erik had planned for him that justified the risk Erik was taking to invest in Charles’ allegiance.

It didn’t matter though.  Charles would do it, whatever it was.  Charles would do anything for Erik, no investment required.  He wasn’t going to tell Erik that, though.  Because as large a risk as these nights were, Charles would do anything not to give them up.

The memory of what he and Hank raised instead of Raven flashed through his mind again and he shuddered.

Almost anything.

* * *

 

In the first moments in the aftermath of their failed human transmutation all Charles could do was stare ahead with unseeing eyes. The pain in his leg, the transmutation circle under his palms, the sound of his blood dripping on the floor, even Hank’s absence were all forgotten as he tried to process what he had just been shown.  As Charles struggled to understand the Gate and what lay beyond it, there was only one word that leapt to mind.  Truth.

Then something shifted in the center of the circle and he snapped back to the present.  There was something there.

“Raven?” he called tentatively.

There was another noise, and then the gloom in the room cleared enough that Charles could see, and immediately wished he couldn’t.

Charles would see what was in the center of the circle in his nightmares for as long as he lived.

It wasn’t Raven.  It wasn’t Raven at all.  Charles could recognize some body parts but the way they fit together was not natural.

Nothing about what they had done was natural he realized as his stomach dropped and he fought the urge to vomit.  This was the greatest taboo for a reason.

Charles had paid for his hubris with his leg.  And Hank…

Hank was gone.

“No,” Charles whispered.  “No,” he said again, stronger this time.  “I won’t lose them both.  I _can’t._ ”

He looked around the room for something, _anything_.  His eyes alighted on the stuffed chimera his father once made, or so his mother told him when he asked.  He knew what he must do.

Ignoring the thing that was _not_ Raven in the corner of the room, Charles reached out and tugged the blue-furred ornament down.  He roughly pulled off a clump of hair at the back of the creature’s neck and drew a symbol onto the surface exposed in his own blood.

He went back to the gate, and this time when he returned, he had Hank’s soul with him.  He was missing his other leg.  It wasn’t equivalent exchange.  Not by any means.

Charles would have paid much more than a limb for Hank.

* * *

 

Charles stopped briefly in front of the mirror in Colonel Lehnsherr’s room, examining his appearance critically in the reflective surface for any visible evidence of the night before.  His lips were slightly swollen, he knew, but he doubted anyone not looking closely would notice.  The circles under his eyes, too, he doubted would draw attention.  The patch of red skin that showed just above his collar was another matter, however.  He frowned and tugged his collar up but the mark stayed stubbornly visible.

Long-fingered hands slid around his waist and he was pulled back flush against a long, lean body.

“Trying to leave without getting consent from your commanding officer, Charles?  That’s against regulations.”

“I don’t think the AWOL provisions are meant for these situations,” Charles told him, leaning back into the warmth of Erik’s body.

“As your commanding officer, that is at my discretion,” Erik responded.  “And clearly I’ll have to reprimand you for it.”

One of Erik’s hands had slid off his waist down to his ass and squeezed it firmly.  Charles made a noise, somewhere between a squeak and a moan, and Erik’s grin was predatory in the mirror.

“Yes well, given that I’m trying to avoid exposing the one thing I _am_ doing that is against regulations,” Charles said, pulling away reluctantly to tug uselessly at his shirt collar again, “perhaps that reprimand can wait.”

Erik’s hands left his waist and ass and reached up to take Charles’ in his own, pulling his hands away.  He tugged Charles’ collar down with one hand and stared at the mark he’d left on Charles’ neck.  The look on his face was one that Charles had become familiar with these past few months, filled with arousal and intent and just a hint of smugness.  Erik leaned down and pressed his lips to the mark again, and Charles couldn’t bring himself to do anything but grip Erik’s hand and shudder at the feeling of that warm, wet mouth against the already sensitive skin.

Erik pulled away at last, before pulling the collar of Charles’ shirt back into position and studying the affect critically.  “No one will notice it unless they’re looking for it,” he said after his examination, and Charles’ didn’t recognize the expression on his face as he spoke.

It soon vanished though, and Erik pulled away save for one hand which he left at the small of Charles’ back, ushering him out of the bathroom at to the door to the quarters he had been assigned while he was here in Central.  The Iron Blood Alchemist leaned down and pressed one last kiss to Charles’ lips before pulling away, all the fondness falling away, leaving the blank, impassive face Charles’ was used to seeing while Colonel Lehnsherr was on duty.

“You’re dismissed, Xavier.”

Charles snapped a crisp salute.  He saw the corner of the Colonel’s lip twitch, saw the warmth in Erik’s eyes, and he held that memory, that moment of (he hoped) legitimate fondness, close to his heart as he walked out of Erik’s quarters into Central.

* * *

 

Charles opened his eyes and found golden ones framed by a blue-furred face staring down at him intently.

“Charles?”  Hank’s voice sounded desperate as it issued from between long, white fangs.

Charles smiled, relieved.  “It worked.”

Hank’s new face creases into an expression Charles didn’t know how to recognize.  Not yet.  “Charles…your legs…” he said.

Charles couldn’t resist the urge to glance down, and once again he rather wished he hadn’t.  Where his legs should be were two stumps wrapped in bandages.  Charles recognized the neat work as being Hank’s own, the skill having been one of the few his parents had time to pass on to him before they left for Ishval and never returned.

“I’m sorry Hank,” Charles said when he opened his mouth.  “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Charles” Hank said with a growl in his voice.  “I knew…I knew what we were doing was wrong.  I should have stopped you.  This…this is my fault.”

Charles clutched a large, blue-furred palm in both his hands.  “It wasn’t your fault, Hank.  No, the blame lies solely with me.”

Charles made another promise.

“I will get you your body back, Hank,” Charles swore.  “Whatever it takes, I will make this right.”

Hank gripped Charles’ hands as well.  “You couldn’t have done this without me and I didn’t stop you.  And your leg…you lost that because of me.  I’ll get them back for you Charles, both of them.  I promise.”

It doesn’t occur to Charles until much, much later that he hadn’t learned a thing.

* * *

 

Charles found Hank in their quarters, muzzle buried in one of the alchemy texts Charles had checked out from the State Alchemist’s library for them both.  Charles was sure to step carefully as he navigated his way through all the papers strewn around the room, notes in Hank’s now untidy scrawl in evidence on nearly every page.  Charles saw transmutation circles in evidence on several of them, some seemingly exact copies of others, but Charles knew enough about Hank’s process to know that each one contained minute but significant changes.  Hank would try over and over again, tweaking until he was sure the circle was perfect.

“I’m home,” he called softly as he set his hand on Hank’s blue-furred shoulder.

Hank was so absorbed in his work that the small contact coupled with the sound of Charles’ voice made him jump, the book falling to the ground with a loud thump.  “Charles!” he said, fumbling to get his glasses back on straight.  “You’re back.”

“I am,” Charles responded.  Before Hank had a chance to continue speaking, no doubt forming some query that would only both make them incredibly uncomfortable, Charles barreled on, neatly sidestepping the whole issue.  “I can see you were busy while I was gone.”

Hank visibly brightened at the mention of his research and went off on a long tangent to describe what he’d been up to while Charles had been…out.  Hank was a brilliant alchemist, he always had been, and Charles listened intently as Hank described his thought process through each of the different circles he had designed.  Charles couldn’t help but offer some suggestions of his own, and when Charles next looked up, the sun was high in the sky instead of just peeking over the horizon.

Charles let out a rueful chuckle.  “Hank, we’ve gone and done it again.”

Hank glanced up and Charles was sure if there had been blood running beneath that blue fur, he would have blushed.  The casual reminder was like a knife to Charles’ gut, and it served better at refocusing him than anything else could have.

“So…no luck with the stone last night?” Charles asked.

Hank shook his head.  “I got…distracted,” he said, and his tone was filled with shame.

Charles reached out and ruffled the fur on the top of his head the way he once would have ruffled Hank’s hair, and the knife in his gut twisted.  “None of that now,” he said gently.  “You were doing excellent work.  And I think it’s pretty clear that we won’t make any more progress without at least a little guidance.”

“To Dublith then?” Hank asked, adjusting his glasses nervously.

Charles gulped.  “Yes.  To Dublith.”  He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the imagined wrath of their teacher.  “I’ll go buy the tickets.  Why don’t you stay here and keep working on what we were talking about?  We’ll need it when we get the stone.”

Hank bared his fangs in his new version of a smile; his golden eyes warm, before he turned back to the pages sprawled around him on the floor.  Charles placed a hand on one of Hank’s large, blue-furred shoulders and hauled himself up from the floor into a standing position, getting his automail under him with ease.  At least he never had to worry about it going numb, he thought to himself with dark humor.

There was a knock on the door just as Charles reached it, and when opened it revealed an unsmiling Erik.  No, not Erik.  This was Colonel Lehnsherr through and through, Charles realized as he studied the expression on the man’s face, and he was very much here in that capacity.

“Colonel,” Charles said respectfully.  “What can we do for you?”

“The Master is calling us to heel,” the Colonel replied.  “There’s a rabid dog that needs to be put down.  The Freezing Alchemist is here, in Central.  He needs to be stopped.”  The man before Charles took a deep breath, and for a moment he could see Erik behind the facade.  “The Führer asked for you specifically.”

“Well then,” Charles responded with a forced grin.  “It’s a good thing I didn’t buy those tickets.”

* * *

 

Charles’ memories from the day he and Hank broke the ultimate taboo were not as clear as he would like, starting after he reattached Hank’s soul to his body.  Still, at least the important memories were clear.  Most of the trip to the Stark’s house was a pain-filled blur.  He wasn’t sure if the seeming shortness of the journey to the neighboring town was a result of Hank’s increased speed and stamina or a result of his own tenuous grasp on consciousness.  Regardless, Charles felt himself shift in Hank’s arms as his brother freed an arm before pounding on the rather ornate door to the Stark residence.

They knew Tony Stark.  They were all of them friends and had been for years.  Tony was just a friend though, not family like Hank was, like Raven…had been.

Still, when Tony opened the door, he blanched.

“Help him,” Hank said desperately, and a very detached part of Charles marveled at the way the words issued from the mouth even though the furred chest beneath him didn’t move.

Charles found himself burrowing closer to that fur.  It seemed so very warm and Charles was so—he shivered violently…so very, very cold.

The next few moments all blurred together, but he could still remember with perfect clarity the first time he heard that voice.

“What’s wrong with him?” crisp consonants asked, and Charles remembered a flash of grey-green eyes above him before Hank let out a sharp, low warning growl.

A blur of pain, bright lights,  blue fur, and gold eyes are all he can recall.

Save one thought, running through his head over and over, and he can feel the words forming on his lips even as the tears work their way down his face.

“Does he hate me?” Charles asked the world.  “Does Hank hate me for what I’ve done to him?”

The world didn’t answer and Charles still hadn’t found the courage to ask Hank.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

* * *

 

Charles cursed himself a fool six different ways as he sprinted through the street.  He should have been more careful.  But no, he’d been stupid and cocky.  Now there was a murderer on the loose and all the deaths since the night before could easily have been prevented if he hadn’t been such an _idiot_.  They were all his fault.

He couldn’t make up for it.  There was no equivalent exchange to be offered for human life.  Charles had learned that the hard way.  What he could do, though, was get this madman off the streets before anyone else was hurt.  And to that end…

Charles rounded the corner into the alleyway from the night before, Hank hot on his heels.  He grinned triumphantly at the sight of the Freezing Alchemist crouching in the alleyway where he had been captured (and then escaped, Charles reminded himself harshly) the night before.

“Stop right there!” Charles called.

He had only hoped to try and uncover some clue about the alchemist’s plans.  In examining the transmutation circle from the night before, Charles had simply hoped to gain some insight.  Running into the man responsible was a stroke of luck.  He settled into a distressingly familiar stance, so as to be ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, Hank a reassuring shadow at the end of the alley.  Charles refused to allow this man to escape again.

“It’s no use trying to escape!” Hank called out, his yellow eyes glowing ominously in the gloom.

“Escape?  Why would I want to escape?” The Freezing Alchemist asked, his ripped sleeve and intense expression making him look more than a little crazed.

He threw his arms out wide and the transmutation circle beneath him glowed red, energy like lighting reaching up into the sky.  A sky that was lighting up with other spires of red energy.  For such a reaction to occur, for each of them to happen _simultaneously_ meant…

“A philosopher’s stone,” he exhaled in wonder.

It was the only way to explain the reaction occurring.  The only way the Freezing Alchemist could ignore the law of equivalent exchange.  The only way Charles could get Hank’s body back.

Charles turned his attention back to the figure before him, even more intent on his capture now than he had been before, if that was possible.  But before he could do anything in that regard, the wind howled past him and towards the area before Charles. It glowed too brightly for him to see into, blue now instead of red.  Frost covered the walls and the street.

The moisture in the air, Charles realized with a horrible sinking feeling.

“Charles Xavier!” The Freezing Alchemist called out.

The wall of ice behind him shone blue and red, only building higher and higher as more air rushed past, the water answering the alchemist’s call.

“Dog of the military!”  And Charles couldn’t help but bristle at that as he always did, for all that it had been clear to him what his role would be from the start of his venture.  “State Alchemist!  Do you know who it is you’re protecting?  Do you know what this country is trying to do?” the alchemist before him demanded.

Charles knew an attempt at a distraction when he heard one.  He shared his bed with one of the biggest manipulators of all.  He opened his mouth to demand information about the philosopher’s stone but the Freezing Alchemist barreled on.

“If you knew, you’d understand what I was trying to do!  You’d be _helping_ me.”

And despite himself, Charles paused.  Because what if The Freezing Alchemist truly had something to say?

“I don’t know,” he answered at last.  “If you told me, maybe…”

But before he could learn anything, Hank was _leaping_ over the wall of ice that separated them and swinging at The Freezing Alchemist, clearly intent on taking the man down.  Hank landed a solid hit and Charles quickly dodged as the man went flying past him, crashing into the railing on the other side of the street that prevented inattentive people from falling into the river.

“Nicely done,” the man said weakly as he hauled himself into an upright sitting position.

Charles’ wasn’t listening though.  He was too busy contemplating the unfamiliar glow that lit Hank’s eyes.

“Charles, his alchemy…”

Hope, Charles realized at last.  That light was hope.

“I know, Hank,” he reassured his brother in all but blood before rounding on the panting Freezing Alchemist.  “You have a philosopher’s stone, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” the man responded, but his grin was more than answer enough.

Charles’ blood rushed through his veins.  After years of fruitless searching, might their quest finally be complete?  Might Charles finally have the chance to see his brother smiling back at him not with fangs, but teeth, blue eyes instead of yellow warming with humor or delight?  The possibility was overwhelming.

“If you won’t tell me,” Charles said slowly, “I’ll force it out of you.”

And for Hank?  He would.

Charles took one step forward and the water behind the man rushed upwards.  The river, Charles realized with dawning horror.  They’d practically driven him _into it_ , this alchemist whose element was water.  The Freezing Alchemist smirked at Charles as he made his way to the top of his tower of ice, and Charles could do nothing but flee.

  Now there was a wall of ice closing in on Central, the entire city turned into a giant transmutation circle and Central Command in danger.  And it was all his fault.  _Again_.  Didn’t he ever learn? 

He heard Hank easily keeping pace behind him and took courage in his brother’s presence, for all that the word _fetch_ echoed in his mind.

* * *

 

Charles spent the night having his blood replenished and infection staved off by Tony, though he remembered very little of it.  He spent the majority of the time fading in and out of consciousness before eventually falling into the first of many nightmare-ridden nights of sleep.

The next morning he was feeling marginally more human, once he had gotten over the terrifying moment of waking up and discovering that the night before had not been some sort of terrifying nightmare but was, in fact, reality.  Still, by the afternoon he was deemed fit enough to sit in a wheelchair.  As soon as Charles had mastered maneuvering to a degree, he made his way out to the patio to take in sunlight and fresh air.  To remind him that it wasn't the world that had ended.  That it was only his life and Hank’s that had crashed and burned to the ground the night before.

He sat and marveled at the calm scene before him and the flowers and grass undulating in the breeze.  _All is one and one is all_ , he recalled distantly, and looking out at the view before him he could almost believe it.  He wasn't sure if he should find that comforting or devastating.

A throat cleared behind him and Charles turned in his chair.  A tall, lean man stood at the door between Tony’s house and the edge of the porch, broad shoulders filling out a military uniform and thin waist emphasized by the belt holding it closed.

The man didn't ask to join Charles.  Instead, once he was sure his presence had been noted, he made his way out onto the porch and came to a stop beside Charles, falling naturally into parade rest.

"I came out here for some perspective," Charles said simply when the man beside him made no move to speak.

"Did it work?" the man beside him asked, and Charles recognized the voice from his hazy memories of the night before.

"I'm not sure yet," Charles said simply.

"You attempted a human transmutation yesterday.  You and your brother."

Charles didn't correct him.  It was close enough to true, after all.

“Do you know how rare it is for that to be as successful as yours seemingly was?”

“Successful?” Charles laughed harshly, tears in his eyes.  “Please, enlighten me.  How was what happened last night remotely _successful_?”

“You didn’t die,” the military man responded simply.  “You managed to successfully raise…something, if your brother is to be believed, before the transmutation rebounded.  And when it did, neither of you died.”

Charles glared at him.  “He did.  He almost did.  My brother, Hank….” And Charles couldn't continue because his hands were shaking and his vision was blurred.  Hank had almost _died._ And for what?

“He didn’t though,” the man said simply.  “You brought him back.”

Charles turned to glare at him and found grey-green eyes staring at him, assessing.  There was no pity or sympathy, only cool calculating interest and a hint of something else.

Impressed.  The man beside him was impressed.

“State Alchemists,” he said at last, “have access to resources not available to anyone else.  The amount of research in the libraries at Central is staggering.  And all of it is for State Alchemists only.  Getting your brother’s body back would be difficult even with those sorts of means,” he said, seemingly casual.  “I can’t imagine how difficult it might be without them.”

Charles stared at the man before him for a long moment and the stranger met his gaze unflinching.  After a time, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out several folded papers.

“Would you like to become a dog of the government?”

* * *

 

Charles sat on his bed in the infirmary—a private room, due to his status as a State Alchemist—and tried to focus on the question Hank had just asked him, instead of the pain in his shoulder or the itching under his bandages.  While the wound itself was serious, Charles knew what they were most concerned with was infection.  Coming into contact with blood was _always_ risky.

The confrontation with The Freezing Alchemist had ended with dozens of lives lost and an almost unthinkable amount of damage to Central.  Charles and Hank had managed to knock him off the high wall of ice he was using to create a path of destruction leading right to Central Command, and Major Steve Rogers, the Strong Arm Alchemist, had finally destroyed the last of the transmutation circles, and it had seemed that the fighting was almost over.  But the cornered alchemist had transmuted his own blood and used it to attack Charles, and clutching his shoulder in pain, he’d been forced to watch the man run away again.

Erik had been the one to kill him, so the reports went.  But Charles knew enough about Erik to find this turn of events suspicious.  Erik would always, _always_ attempt to bring traitors to prison.  After all, why waste possible future resources?

He gave Hank’s queries about the man’s possession of a philosopher’s stone the same he had given his own doubts about the rumors he was hearing.  “We’ll have to wait for the official report.”

There was a knock on the door and a bashful looking Steve Rogers entered.  He gave Hank a nod and a smile by way of greeting before turning his attention back to Charles.  “I just wanted to see how you were doing and to come wish you well,” Steve said with a warm, sincere smile.  “I also thought I might come keep you company but it looks as if you’ve already got some of that.”

“Nonsense,” Charles said with a grin.  Steve was a warm, wonderful, and optimistic person.  It would do Charles some good to be exposed to someone of his disposition, as sour as he’d been feeling the past few days.  Besides, he might be able to shed some additional light on the situation.  “Come join us.”

Steve did, and when he pushed back his chair to leave just under an hour later, Charles had a great deal to ponder.  The stone, if the alchemist had ever had it, had gone missing, and Steve had very carefully said that Colonel Lehnsherr had been given credit for killing the man, implying that Erik had not done the deed himself.  Charles was prepared to settle in and work through this information when there was a familiar voice at the door.

“Now, what’s this I hear about Charles Xavier landing himself in the infirmary again?” Edie Lehnsherr demanded from the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a stern expression on her face.

“Mrs. Lehnsherr!” Steve said, snapping instinctively into a salute as she made her way into the room.

“At ease major,” she said offhand, as if she were used to these sorts of displays.  Knowing how frequently she visited the Central Command Center and the steel core that lurked under that motherly exterior, Charles was willing to wager that she might be.  “Now,” she said, walking over to the bed and staring down at him firmly, “what have I told you two about getting into trouble?”

Charles gave her his most innocent, winning smile.  She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.  Charles remembers then that this is the woman who raised Erik Lehnsherr and abruptly decides to change tactics.  It seemed, however, that Hank had a similar idea and had beaten him to the punch.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Lehnsherr,” he said, somehow managing to look up at her soulfully through wet, yellow eyes.  “We could have been more careful, but there was no way Charles could have known the man was going to _transmute his own blood_.  I mean, it’s crazy to even _say_ , let alone _do._ ”

Her hard countenance visibly softened and she ran her fingers through Hank’s fur soothingly before sitting down in the chair Steve had just vacated.  Reaching out, she took Charles’ uninjured hand in her own and squeezed it.

“Be more careful, hmmm?” she said, and didn’t continue speaking until Charles met her gaze.  “There are lots of people who would be very upset if something were to happen to you.”

Charles nodded.  That much was true, he knew.  It would be hard for him to play whatever role he had in Erik’s plans if he was dead.  And Charles knew that all Erik’s reaction wouldn’t be purely clinical — he was very attached to all the soldiers under his command.

Edie clapped her hands suddenly.  “I know just the thing to lift your spirits!” she said delightedly before beginning to rummage in her purse.  Charles grinned wide knowing exactly what was coming.  “I found an old photo album the other day.  A new one.  I only have a few in my purse, but you’ll see the others when you come to stay with me.”

“Mrs. Lehnsherr, we couldn’t possibly…” Hank began, but a sharp look from Edie cut him off.

“It’s Edie, Hank.  For you and Charles both.  How many times do I have to tell you that?  And you know very well that you have no choice in the matter,” she said with a warm grin.  “If you don’t take advantage of my hospitality of your own free will, well, I’ll just have to drag you.  Or get Erik or one of his nice boys to help me.”

Hank bared his fangs in his smile, and Charles knew if he had his old body, he would have been flushed with embarrassed pleasure.  It was nice to be wanted.  For Hank, now that most looked at him and thought of him as less than human, as either a monster to be feared or a slave to be used, to have Edie insist on having him as a guest…it was more than enough to endear her to Charles.

The fact that she brought him Erik’s baby pictures when he was confined to the infirmary was just icing on the cake.

* * *

 

“How long?” Charles asked Tony later that day, after Lehnsherr had left.  “If you gave me automail legs, how long would the recovery take?”

Tony stared at him and swore.  “Lehnsherr.  That fucker.  You’re actually going to do it, aren’t you?  You’re going to become a State Alchemist.  Do you even know what that would mean, Charles?  They call them the military’s dogs for a _reason_ , Charles!”

“How long?” Charles asked again, staring Tony down.

Something in his eyes must have done the trick because Tony visibly deflated.  “Three years,” he said at last.

“One,” Charles corrected.

Tony gaped at him.  But he eyed Charles’ expression and shook his head with a sigh.  “Well then, we’d best get started.”

Three-hundred and sixty-three days later, Charles collapsed back onto the grass, staring up at the sun, laughing whenever he could catch his breath long enough to do so.

“Giving up?” Hank asked, staring down at Charles with gold eyes lit up with happiness.  It was the first time Charles had seen that look in them.  It only served to make him feel more giddy.

“Yes.  You’re no match for me now, my friend,” Charles said, smiling up at him.

Hank sat down next to him, and it wasn't long before the two were lying on their backs, staring up at the clouds.

"You're automail seems to be working," Hank said, and Charles could tell from his tone that he had been mulling something over.  He let him have his space to come to the words; for all that Charles had a fairly good idea of what they would be.  "So...we're going to Central then."

"Yes," Charles said.  "I need to pass the state alchemy exam so we can get your body back."

" _Our_ bodies back," Hank corrected.  There was a pause before he said with conviction.  "I'll take it too.  I'll be a state alchemist as well."

Charles had been expecting it but that didn't make it any less startling to hear.

"Oh, Hank, no," he said, sitting up so he could meet his brother's eyes.  "I--it's not that I doubt you have the skill.  It's not that at all.  But...one of us will get us the access we need.  We don't both have to be the military's dogs.  I don't want that for you."

Hanks fur stood on end and Charles sighed.  He had hoped not to have to resort to this.

"Hank, how would you explain your appearance?"

There was silence.

"You couldn't," Charles continued gently.  "You're a person. I know that.  You know that.  But other people will look at you and see a chimera.  Even if you could somehow persuade them that you were a human soul trapped in this body, well...that would involve human transmutation."  Charles reached out and placed a hand on      Hank's shoulder.  "I'm so sorry, Hank."  Charles said softly.  "So very sorry.  But only one of us needs to make this sacrifice, and it's my fault you're like this in the first place.  I have to be the one to do this."

Hank stared at him in silence before nodding.

“I will pass this exam, Hank.  And I will become a state alchemist because it’s what I have to do.  But whatever it takes, I will get your body back.”

They traveled to the Central the next day and Erik Lehnsherr is standing at the platform waiting for him, a large blond man with a warm smile at his left shoulder and an immaculate blonde woman with a face like ice at his right.  Lehnsherr himself is nearly unreadable but something in his eyes and the set of his lips made Charles think the man is incredibly pleased.  With himself, Charles is sure, but something about his gaze as his eyes roam up and down Charles’ form sends heat racing through his veins.

“So you made it after all,” Lehnsherr said, and Charles would bristle at the words, but something in Lehnsherr’s tone stopped him.

“Were you missing me that much, Colonel?” Charles asked, giving the man his sauciest look, ignoring Hank’s sputtering, the man to the colonel’s left blushing furiously and the twitch of the lips of the woman on his right, in favor of locking his eyes on the Colonel’s own.

The Colonel smirked.

“Oh Charles,” he whispered, reaching forward to slide an arm over his shoulder before tugging the man up against his side, “you have no idea.”

Charles could feel his face on fire and his heart pounding in his chest, acutely aware of every place the Colonel’s body was touching his own.

“In fact, I missed you so much,” Lehnsherr said, bringing his face down close to Charles’ ear, “that I’m going to whisk you away,” he paused as he tugged Charles even closer, “and leave you for weeks to be trained by another state alchemist.”

Lehnsherr pulled back and laughed, and Charles tried to use the moment to gather himself, willing his face to stop burning and his heart to stop pounding and his gut to stop twisting in such a terrible way.  He had started it by baiting the Colonel.  The Iron Blood Alchemist was merely picking up where Charles had left off.  Forcing away his humiliation as best he could, he focused instead on what it was Lehnsherr had said, rather than how he had said it.

“Training with another state alchemist?” he asked, trying to force himself to become excited as he might have done a minute ago.

“Yes, before your exam.  Nathaniel Essex, The Sewing-Life Alchemist.  I thought you might be interested in his work.”

Charles cocked his head, intrigued despite himself.  “And what sort of work is that?”

“During his state alchemy exam, he presented a chimera that could understand human speech. And use it as well.”

Charles blinked.  A talking chimera.  Well.  That was quite an accomplishment.  And it certainly sounded like the kind of research that might lend itself into his current pursuits.  Charles was always eager to learn from other alchemists whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

“That sounds like an incredible opportunity,” Charles said simply.  And it was.  He didn’t want to think about the kind of strings the Colonel had had to pull to make it happen.

“He’s my brother-in-law of sorts” Lehnsherr said as if reading his thoughts.  “His wife and I were very close as children.  I stop by to see his daughter, Anya, as often as I can.”  Lehnsherr’s expression twisted.  “Ever since her mother ran off, he’s needed all the help he can get.”

Charles perked at that.  “I’d be delighted to help with anything while we’re there.  I love children, and it’s the least we could do in exchange for the help Mr. Essex would be giving us.”

Lehnsherr’s grin turned victorious and Charles realized he’d been manipulated again.

Charles stared at him and sighed.

“You know,” he said picking up his suitcase and walking away, “you could always just ask.”

* * *

 

A year later, Charles sat in the alley where Anya…where the thing that Anya had become, the thing Essex had turned his daughter into, had been killed.  Not just killed, but murdered.  Torn apart.

Charles stared at the wall that had once been caked in Anya’s blood, fingers clenched into fists, only his gloves preventing him from gouging his own palm.  A child.  She’d been a child.  To see Alchemy, which was meant for the people, to be used in such monstrous ways not once, but _twice_ on the same beautiful, innocent little girl and her canine companion…it still made Charles ill.

He was here to remember.  Not just Anya, not just what had happened to her, but how.  By whom.  Charles was here to remind himself exactly what Alchemy was capable of, and what his limitations were.  Because Alchemy had destroyed Anya, and Charles hadn’t been able to help her, and he could never, _ever_ allow himself to forget.

Charles wasn’t sure what Hank was thinking as he sat beside him but Charles was grateful for his silent support regardless.

“Remember the flower crowns we used to make for her?” Hank asked at last.

“Yes,” Charles said, throat tight at the thought, the image of the four of them playing in the yard together with the silly decoration adorning their heads, even earlier memories of Raven with flowers nested atop her golden curls, and he could barely breathe for the sudden ache in his chest, the longing for both those times.  For the carefree happiness he had felt.  When he didn’t feel as if the weight of all the mistakes he had made were slowly crushing him.  In that moment, Charles longed for the simple pleasure of flower crowns and tag in the garden.

There was a set of footsteps behind him as Charles’ turned to face the approaching stranger, wiping hurriedly at his eyes as he did so.  The man standing above him towered over him even more than usual.  His face was covered in scars but this wasn’t what had the blood running cold in Charles’ veins.

It was his eyes.  Not the red color, unusual as it was.  No.  Those eyes…they were not the eyes of a sane man.

“Are you state alchemist Charles Xavier, otherwise known as The Good Shepard Alchemist?”

“Yes?” Charles said, doing his best to shift without being noticed.

The man’s hand flashed back in a well-practiced movement and Charles’ found himself unable to do anything but stare as it began to flash forward.  It was only Hank’s desperate shout of his name that was able to bring him out of his mesmerized stupor, and he quickly pushed himself back out of the way, assisted by Hank’s hands wrapped around his shoulders.

Charles stared in mute horror as the man turned.  Charles stayed frozen in shock for longer than he should have before he managed to shake off the paralyzing feeling.  Hank’s hands a reassuring and grounding presence at his shoulders, Charles brought his hands together and slammed them down against the ground.  He analyzed the material below his palms, deconstructed it, and then took those elements he had just taken apart and used them to build a a thick-walled box of sorts, trapping his attacker inside.

“What on earth…” Charles muttered, staring at the prison where he had trapped the man.

One of the walls exploded outwards, sending large chunks of rubble flying.  Sprawled on the ground as he was, it was only luck that kept Charles from being hit by one of the large pieces of debris.  A small piece struck his shoulder (the one still recovering from his encounter with The Freezing Alchemist, of course), but he was too busy staring up in shock to notice.

_Who_ is _he?  This is bad.  This is bad.  I have to get away.  This is bad._   The words kept chasing themselves around in his head, looping over and over.  When he saw the man’s hand flex in a threatening manner, he finally seemed to free himself from the paralyzing terror.

“Hank, run!” he shouted as he pushed himself up and followed his own advice.

A quick look was enough to make him curse his own foolishness.  The prison he’d created that had failed so spectacularly was now blocking the entrance to the alley.  Even if they somehow managed to clear the man before them (which Charles doubted), the box would still be in the way.  Deciding his course of action in a split second, he yelled for Hank to grab on before clapping his hands together once again, bringing them down on the ground and creating a growing pillar to carry them to safety.

“You’re not getting away,” the man below them said matter-of-factly before there was a flash of blue light and the familiar sound of a transmutation taking place and Charles could feel the pillar dissolving beneath him.

It didn’t matter.  It had done its job.  The momentum of his creation had been enough to carry them up onto the roof of the prison he had made.  He only stumbled once as he got his feet under him and took off across the roof before jumping down into the street and sprinting.  Charles glanced around desperately, trying to remember the layout of the town and failing.  It had been a year since he’d last been in the small town about a half-hour’s journey from Central, and even when he had lived here, he’d spent most of his time in Essex’s house.

“I don’t understand,” he panted to Hank as they raced down the streets.  “I’ve irritated some people over the course of the years but I’ve never done anything to warrant anyone trying to kill me!”

Hank had no response for that and the only sound he heard from the man pursuing them was the sound of his feet pounding against the ground behind them.  And from the frequency of his footfalls, he was quickly closing what little space remained between them.

Praying his gamble would pay off, Charles darted into an alley, Hank hot at his heels.  He let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the alley did indeed cut through to another street, this one less trafficked.  At least he could ensure the innocent didn’t get caught in the crossfire.  And perhaps this would give them the chance to pull ahead somewhat.

But then he saw the blue light arcing ahead of him and the wall at the end of the alley collapsed.  He backpedaled desperately, the flash of blue fur out of the corner of his eye convincing him Hank had done the same.  The end result was him sprawled on the ground, Hank beside him, staring up at the blocked mouth of the alley with mounting horror.  They were trapped.

Charles took a deep breath and turned to face their foe.  “Who are you?”  He demanded.  “Why are you after us?”

“If you are a ‘creator’” he said, “then I am a ‘destroyer’.”

Charles stared at the man and sighed.  He would have to fight then.  He clapped his hands together and transmuted himself a weapon while Hank slipped into a crouch beside him, baring his fangs.  Charles by no means enjoyed fighting, and preferred to resolving things through peaceful means.  But if there was no other option, then Charles was prepared to do what was necessary, he thought as he straightened into his own ready stance, blade clutched firmly in one hand.

Hank roared and Charles yelled, and the two sprinted along the alleyway, dashing forward to attack in unison.

“You’re gutsy,” the man said with a genuinely pleased laugh.  “But,” he added, dodging both their attacks, “too slow.”

The scared man reached behind him with his right hand, placing it against Hank.  There was the familiar sound of transmutation and a flash of blue and then…

Charles stared in horror.  Blue fur was floating in tufts through the air.  Stuffing and preserved skin lay in pieces on the ground.  And Hank.  Hank was missing the majority of his right side.  Too close. Too close to the blood seal, to the mark that kept Hank’s soul anchored to this body.

“You _bastard_!” Charles shouted, rushing the man.

In his anger, he forgot the blade in his hand and lashed out with a kick from one of his legs.  Doing so probably saved his life.

The man’s hand wrapped around his leg and there was the flash of blue again, and Charles was propelled backwards into the street.  He rose to his feet at once, preparing to rush the man again as soon as an opening presented itself.

“Automail,” the man said consideringly, staring at the large tear in Charles’ trousers.  “So that’s why it didn’t injure you.  You _are_ unusual.”  The murderer sounded almost impressed.

Charles clapped his hands together and made himself a new weapon from the elements in the street, the old one having been lost during his tumble, and once again fell into his ready stance.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath was short and his previously injured arm was screaming in pain, but none of that mattered.  Not when Hank was in danger.

“Charles, don’t.  You should run!”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Charles snapped angrily.  “I can’t run away and leave you behind!”

“So you clap your hands together and form a transmutation circle, huh?  Interesting,” their attacker mused, ignoring their exchange.

Charles rushed him and the man reached out and grabbed his weapon, pressing his right hand against it and _shoving_ as it began to break apart, imbedding the pieces deep into Charles’ arm.   His left arm.  The one that was still recovering from his encounter with The Freezing Alchemist.  Pain flared up his arm, sharp and all-consuming. Charles could feel his vision fading at the corners.  He staggered back and gripped his shoulder, forcing back the black at the edges of his eyes with an effort of pure will.

There was no way he could transmute now.  He was terrified that the simple act of reaching over to press his right hand against his left would cause him to pass out.  Charles took a deep breath and shifted his stance again.  He pushed away the growing feeling of dread, deep in the pit of his stomach.  For Hank.  He could be strong for Hank.

He ran forward and kicked again but the man grabbed Charles’ leg.

There was pain as his nerves disconnected sharply from the now shattered remains of right leg but as Charles fell to the ground and stared up, all he could think about was how truly helpless he now was.

He barely heard Hank’s desperate shout of his name as he stared at the remains of his automail.  An attempt to crawl away only resulted in him somehow managing to flip himself onto his stomach.  He couldn’t perform alchemy.  He couldn’t _stand._ He was barely hanging on to consciousness as it was. 

This, he realized with a terrible sinking sensation, was the end.

“I’ll give you a moment to pray,” the man said as he stalked closer.

“I don’t have a god I’d like to pray to,” Charles said slowly, mind running through the scenario.  He wasn’t going to survive this.  He knew that now.  Had almost accepted it.  But Hank.  Hank had to live.

“Am I the only one you’re after?” he asked, staring down at the wet cobblestone beneath him, only now noticing the rain.  How appropriate.  “Are you planning to kill my brother, Hank, too?”

“Only if he interferes,” the man said almost gently.  “You are the only one being judged, Good Shepard Alchemist.”

Charles took a deep breath and rolled onto his side to meet the eyes of the man behind him.

“Promise me you won’t hurt my brother.”

“Charles,” Hank said weakly from behind him, but Charles ignored him.

If he knew Hank would live, he could face this.  He could.

“I promise,” the man said.

“What are you talking about Charles?” Hank said, his voice high.  “What are you doing?  Fight.  Fight!”  His cries grew desperate.  “Stop. _STOP!”_

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stealing himself for this one last moment of pain, the changes in the patterns of the drops hitting his skin telling him it wouldn’t be long now.

The sound of a gunshot split the air caused Charles’ eyes to jerk open and what he saw was enough to bring tears to them.

Cars formed a barricade across the street, a line of familiar soldiers standing in front of them.  And in the middle of those familiar soldiers stood their Commander.  Erik’s gun was still pointing up in the air from where he had fired the warning shot.  His face was expressionless, but his eyes…his eyes burned with a fire Charles had never seen before.

“That’s far enough,” Erik said, his words an angry growl.  It left no doubt as to what would happen if he was disobeyed.  “You’ve been on quite the rampage, Deadpool.”

There was a pause as Erik visibly seemed to gather himself, anger not receding so much as being covered by a blank mask.  “I’m taking you into custody for the murder of a series of State Alchemists.”

The man above Charles, Deadpool, if Erik was to be believed, straightened, gaze fixing on Erik’s.  “Alchemists defy the natural order of things. They defy the divine will.  I hand down God’s judgment.  If you interfere,” he said, and all the traces of good humor Charles had seen in the man before, disappeared, “I will eliminate you as well.”

“This should be interesting,” Erik said with a smile.  At least it was probably meant to be a smile but the rage was burning in his eyes even brighter than before and every tooth now visible felt like a threat.

He passed his gun to Emma Frost without looking away from the man standing above Charles.

“You all stay out of this,” Erik ordered, and his tone brokered no argument.

If Charles had had the energy, he might have called out to Erik not to be an idiot.  This man was dangerous, and he didn’t know if he could handle watching Erik be injured ( _or worse_ , a dark corner of his mind whispered) when his men stood by, able to help him.

Emma, because she was an excellent second in command, attempted to argue anyway.

“Colonel Lehnsherr!” she called sharply in surprise.

“Lehnsherr,” the man above Charles said thoughtfully, “The Iron Blood Alchemist.”  He laughed.  “I never in a million years would have pegged you to come forward for judgment voluntarily.”

The shadows above Charles shifted as Deadpool stepped away, walking towards Erik.  Erik walked forward, his expression unreadable as he adjusted his gauntlets.

“You know my name and still you would challenge me?” he asked. That same smile on his face.  “What a fool you are.”  The smile shifted, somehow combining rage and anticipated satisfaction.  It was terrifying.  “I’m going to tear you apart for what you’ve done.”

Erik brought his fists together in front of him, activating the circles inscribed in the metal on the gauntlets before slamming his hand to the ground, transmuting a large number of chains and sending them racing in Deadpool’s direction.  The murderer dodged them all and kept coming.

“You’re fast,” Erik said, that same grin still on his face, “but that won’t be enough.”

An iron bunker grew from the ground, enclosing Deadpool within it.  The triumphant look on Erik’s face was enough to motivate Charles into pushing off the darkness that had been creeping in once again.  Erik was too focused on his quarry as he stalked forward to look at him, but Emma met his gaze.  Charles shook his head desperately.  Emma didn’t both acknowledging him, just rushed forward, Erik’s gun and her own still clutched firmly in her hands.  A well placed foot had Erik falling backwards just as Deadpool broke through the wall, hand grabbing where Erik’s head would have been just moments before.

Charles let out a small sob of relief.  He watched with deteriorating focus as Emma emptied the clips of both guns at the madman, who sprung backwards to avoid both her bullets and Erik’s metal projectiles, which started flying again as soon as he regained his footing.

“I’ll destroy everyone who interferes,” he said in an almost sing-song voice as he stepped out from behind the corner where he had hidden to avoid the last of Emma’s bullets.

“Just try it” a familiar voice said from outside his range of vision, and Charles smiled.  Steve Rogers.  Perhaps Erik would be alright after all.

With that realization, Charles stopped clinging to consciousness quite so tenaciously.  The black started creeping in at the corners of his vision again.  The sounds of fighting faded in and out of focus around him, and he barely even noticed when Logan came over and helped to get him sitting upright.  The street exploding got his attention briefly but he soon felt himself fading away again.  It wasn’t until he saw a familiar shadow above him that he managed to fight his way back to something resembling coherence.

“Erik, are you alright?” Charles mumbled.

Erik said nothing, simply bent down and carefully gathered Charles into his arms, avoiding his wounded shoulder as he cradled Charles against his chest, arm hooked under Charles’ remaining leg.

“Hank,” Charles remembered suddenly as his eyes caught on a tuft of blue fur.  “ _Hank!”_ he called out, struggling briefly in Erik’s grasp.

Erik swore at him, but Charles didn’t care. 

“Put me down or take me to him,” Charles told him, staring up into those ice eyes.  “I don’t care which.”

Erik’s jaw clenched, but he walked over to where Hank was propped up in the corner of the alley, crouching down so the two could be eye to eye.

“Hank, are you alright?” Charles asked, putting a hand on where the damage began, staring into Hank’s face looking for reassurance.

“ _You idiot_!” Hank shouted, and Charles was sure if he was in better condition, his brother would have struck him.  “Why didn’t you run when I told you to?”

“I couldn’t _leave_ you here,” Charles told him.

“That’s why you’re an _idiot!”_ Hank roared and he looked like he would have struck Charles again.

“If I had run away you could have been killed!” Charles said harshly, for all that he couldn’t keep the emotions the thought of a dead Hank evoked out of his voice on the last word.

“And maybe I wouldn’t have been!” Hank said sharply, and Charles could see that he was _furious_.  “Intentionally choosing to die is something only someone stupid would do!”  Hank leaned forward and grabbed Charles’ collar, tugging their faces closer together and ignoring Erik’s angry vocalization.  “Live on.  Live on and survive.  Once we do more research, we could find a way to get our bodies back!  A way to save people like Anya!  I won’t _ever_ allow you to abandon those possibilities in favor of death!”

The arm grasping Charles’ shirt front fell to the ground, and Hank made a wordless sound of frustration.  Charles stared at it and laughed.  At Hank’s glare, he explained.

“We’re falling apart, huh?  God, what a sight we must be.”

“But we’re still alive,” Hank said gently.

“Yeah,” Charles said, looking at the sunlight reflected in the puddles.  “We’re still alive.”

Erik cleared his throat and Charles started.  He’d all but forgotten the Colonel was there, for all he was in the man’s arms.

“We need to get him to the infirmary,” Erik told Hank over Charles’ head, which Charles would have complained about if he could find the energy to do so.  “Emma and the others will keep an eye on you and help get you back to Central.”

Hank must have made some sort of noise of agreement, because the next thing Charles knew the world was tilting again as his perspective changed.  The blurred background of the world was making his head hurt.  Also, he was seeing things, he thought, staring at someone he could have sworn was Edie Lehnsherr, but that made no sense.

“Mama,” Erik said exasperated.  “I told you to stay at Central!”

She waved him off. “I stayed well clear of the fighting.  Now, you take care of your boy.  I’ll take care of tracking down that Deadpool fellow.  I’ve been doing a good job of it so far.”

Charles could feel Erik’s chest heave in a sigh, but he said nothing, and Charles could here Edie’s voice barking orders receding behind him.

His head hurt too much to keep his eyes open any longer, and every step shot agony sharply through his arm.  Charles buried his face in Erik’s chest and breathed deeply, trying to keep from either passing out or throwing up.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Erik said softly.  “Do you understand?  Do you know what it was like to get here, to watch you in danger?  To watch you _give up_?  Never again, Charles.  Promise me.”

Charles looked up at him, confused.  “Why?”

Erik froze, an expression of disbelief on his face.  “Why?  _Why?_   What do you mean, _why_?  Why do you think, Charles?  Or are you hurt badly enough that you somehow can’t remember the last year?”

“Is what you need me to do really that important?” Charles asked, shocked.

“What.”

“The thing you need me to do.  The reason you’re keeping me happy, giving me what I want.  Is it that critical?”  Charles reached up and cupped Erik’s cheek with his good hand.  “I’m not that special.  I’m sure you could find someone else to do it.  You’re smart like that.”

The last thing he saw before the black eating away at the edges consumed his vision entirely was an expression of horror on Erik’s face.

* * *

 

Colonel Lehnsherr had made weekly trips to visit Anya when Charles and Hank had been living with Essex.  When Erik had finished playing with the daughter of his dearest childhood friend, he and Charles would retreat into one of the seldom used studies in Essex’s massive house and would play a game of chess.  It was over these games that Erik showed Charles, piece by careful piece, the world he wanted to build.  A world where the small would protect the weak.  It was over chess where Erik told Charles of the conflict that had made Erik come to this decision in the first place.

Charles listened intently as he played, hoarding the information Colonel Lehnsherr (“Call me Erik,” he insisted, captivating eyes boring into Charles’ own until he had no choice but to nod) shared, offering his own insights into Erik’s plans and sharing little pieces of himself in turn.

The night after Anya and Essex had been murdered, when Charles and Hank had been whisked away to Central and met Edie for the first time as she opened her home to them, Charles nearly sobbed in relief when Erik appeared in the doorway shortly before dinner, a chessboard under his arm.

 That, Charles knew, was the moment.  Their friendship (for that’s what it had become) had been moving towards greater and greater intimacy.  Charles knew he had found Erik attractive.  The fact was so obvious as to be undeniable.  But that moment was when that attraction took on unexpected undertones.  Ones that spoke of true depth of emotion.

The night before his state alchemist’s examination, it became too much.  Before he knew what he was doing, he had lurched forwards and pressed his lips against Erik’s.

Erik pulled back before Charles had a chance to register anything beyond the fact that Erik’s lips were chapped and surprisingly warm, and even that was enough to send a bolt of arousal through him so severe as to be painful.  Even the shame coursing through him, strong as it was, was not enough to keep it at bay; for all that it kept him from meeting Erik’s eyes.

Long, slender fingers wrapped around his chin, and Erik gently but inexorably lifted Charles face until their eyes met.  Erik’s brow was furrowed and his grey-green eyes were questioning.

“Is this,” he said, brushing his thumb lightly along Charles’ bottom lip in a movement that made Charles shudder with desire, “what you want?”

Charles had already humiliated himself.  There was no point in lying now.  “Yes,” he rasped in an unsteady voice.

Erik leaned forward and kissed him.  It was nothing like the gentle peck Charles had given him a moment before.  It was hard and hot and insistent.  It seemed as if Erik was intent on devouring him from the inside out.

As Erik tugged Charles forward to straddle his lap, to slip his tongue between Charles’ lips, Charles spared a moment before his brain was entirely lost to the fires of lust to wish that this was real.

* * *

 

Charles woke to an irate Tony Stark leaning over him.

“You,” the man informed him seriously, “are in _so much trouble_.”

Charles gave him a wan smile.

“Don’t pull that innocent act with me!  It won’t work.  I watched you perfect that technique.  That makes me immune,” Tony snapped.

Charles sighed and tried to sit up, only to gasp in pain as he collapsed backwards.  His arm.  He’d forgotten about his arm.

“You idiot,” Tony chastised him.  “As if breaking state-of-the-art automail isn’t bad enough, you have to go around breaking _yourself_ too.”

“Here,” another familiar voice said, and suddenly Steve Rogers was at his other side, large hands gently wrapping around Charles’ shoulder and settling at his back.  “Let me help.”

It was a matter of moments before Charles was propped up in bed, pillows tucked firmly behind his back.  And once he was upright, he was surprised to see his room was more crowded than he had initially suspected.  Hank (or what was left of him, Charles noticed with a sharp pang) was propped up in a corner, eyeing Charles with concern.  Tony was perched on the right side of Charles’ bed, and now that he was upright, he could see that laid out on the floor beside his bed were a staggering number of the tools of Tony’s trade.  Steve was on the left side of the bed, and looking down at Charles with warm concern, nearly painfully sincere as always.  To Steve’s left sat Logan.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Logan told him around the cigar he was chewing.  “Because as much of a joy as Lehnsherr is to serve under normally, he’s been goddamn terrifying since you wound up in here.  Coming from me, you know that means something.  He’s practically breathing fire.”

Charles stared at him, wide eyed.  “I…” Logan was exaggerating, surely.  “If he’s that upset, it’s about losing Deadpool, I’m sure.”

Logan just stared at him.  “Unbelievable.  Christ, kid, I had you pegged as smarter than this.”

Charles opened his mouth to reply before he caught sight of the two strangers at his door, one on either side, standing at attention. 

“Hello,” he said cautiously.  “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure we’ve met.”

They both snapped smartly to attention.  “Second Lieutenant Moira MacTaggert” the dark haired woman said as she saluted him.

“Sargent Sean Cassidy,” the man besides her added mirroring her action.

“Um…hello.  Very nice to meet you,” Charles said slowly, trying to think of a diplomatic way to enquire about their presence in his sickroom.

“They’re under orders to keep an eye on you while we’re in Central,” Steve said, taking pity on him and nodding at the two soldiers at the door, who dropped their salutes and resumed their poses at either side of the door.  “Which, if Tony can be believed, shouldn’t be for much longer.”

Tony nodded.  “I can give you a patch job, something you can walk on until we get back to the shop, but quite frankly Charles, you need two new legs, and I don’t have the tools here for that.”   Tony narrowed his eyes at him.  “If you’d just stop growing, it wouldn’t be a problem.  Not that you’re going to be winning any awards for height, but…”

Charles laughed.  “Alright, alright.  I get the idea.”  Then he processed the rest of the information he’d been given.  “Guards?  I don’t need guarding.  And what do you mean ‘we’, Major Rogers?”

“I’m to accompany you when we leave Central,” Steve said simply.  “Colonel Lehnsherr thought it best you be kept guarded until Deadpool was caught, at least while you’re still recovering.  Well, the Colonel’s mother did.  The Colonel agreed wholeheartedly.  And quite frankly, I’m inclined to side with them as well.  I fought that man, Charles, and quite frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Charles swallowed.  That much was true.  “It was a rather timely rescue.  How exactly did that come about?”

“The Colonel’s mother.”

Of course.  Edie Lehnsherr was a remarkable woman.  She’d worked in an administrative position in several sections of the government, and had been employed at one of the state libraries before it had been burned down.  She looked like a harmless, doting mother, always looking out for her son.  The amount of information she managed to gather and synthesize from her brief forays into the different halls of Central and her eidetic memory for the written word was astounding.  Edie was where Erik got his information, and to those who knew her, she was also an unofficial officer.

Charles turned his attention to Hank.  “Are you alright?” he asked him.

Hank nodded, yellow eyes serious.  “Are you?”

“I will be,” Charles said with a weak smile.

“Steve, you should take off your shirt.  Show him what a healthy body looks like,” Logan said with a private sort of glee that had Charles instantly on guard.

Roger’s response was to stammer and blush.  Tony’s face got that particularly lecherous look that Charles knew from experience never ended well.

“Yeah, Rogers.  Give him something to aspire to!”

Charles was too shocked to do anything as between Logan and Tony, they eventually managed to cajole Steve out of his shirt.  And then he was too busy being distracted by a frankly absurd set of pectoral muscles to pay attention to much else.  He was tempted to reach out and touch, just to prove to himself that they were real.

“What _,”_ a familiar voice demanded, cold and hard as ice, “is going on here?”

Charles head turned so fast he was afraid he might have broken something.  Erik looked well…he looked terrible.  There were dark circles under his eyes and lines at the corners.  His uniform was rumpled in a way that suggested it had been worn several days in a row, and the stubble at his normally clean jaw confirmed that Erik had been inside it the entire time.

It suddenly occurred to Charles to wonder just how long it had been since he was last lucid.

Steve mumbled something embarrassed as he pulled his shirt back on but Erik’s glare made it clear he wasn’t interested.

“Out,” he said sharply.  “All of you.”  His gaze softened somewhat when it fell on Hank.  “I need to speak with Charles alone.”

Hank eyed Erik seriously for a long time before nodding, and with the help of Steve and Tony was carried out of the room, the last out of all the others to exit.

Erik stared down at Charles with an unreadable expression on his face.

“It has come to my attention,” he said slowly, his words clearly having been carefully chosen beforehand, “that you are under several misapprehensions surrounding the nature of our relationship.”

Charles’ stomach dropped.  He had been dreading this.  He’d always feared that if he revealed the fact that he was aware of Erik’s plots to the man, he’d lose what little of him he did have.  His thoughts must have shown on his face because Erik’s eyes widened and his mask dropped, leaving something incredulous and frantic in its wake.

“No,” Erik said, “no, Charles,” he said, sinking down onto the bed beside him almost gingerly.  Familiar hands cupped Charles’ cheeks and then Erik’s lips pressed against his, more tentative and reverent than they had ever been before.

Charles pulled back, staring at Erik, chest aching and brain fogged with confusion.

“When I first saw you,” Erik said, stroking his thumb along the line of Charles’ cheekbone, “what stayed with me were your eyes.  Even when your world had fallen apart and nearly taken you with it, I could see it in your eyes.  The determination, the fight, the spirit,” Erik’s lip twitched.  “It stayed with me.  And then when you came to Central, standing tall and proud, strong and whole again, a year older, with those same eyes, I…god, I saw you on that platform and I wanted you.  And then I saw how you were with Anya, I listened to you talk and felt you drag things out of me I’d never dared to tell another person, never allowed myself to feel before…” 

Erik looked away and took a deep unsteady breath before returning his eyes to Charles’ own.  “But…you were seventeen.  You were seventeen, and for all you were no longer a child you were still so young.  I was eleven years older and about to be your commanding officer.  And the thought that I might pressure you into something you might not want was abhorrent to me.  But then that night, you kissed me.  That night you told me you wanted me.  That you wanted us.  And I’m not so noble as to ignore what I want when it’s freely offered.”

Charles couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “I…Erik, what are you saying?”

“I love you, Charles Francis Xavier.  I love you, and if I’d known what you were thinking I would have told you every day from that first night onward, my fears be damned.  I love you and seeing the fight go out of your eyes that day…” Erik took a deep, shuddering, unsteady breath.  “Never do that again, Charles.”

Charles reached out with his uninjured hand, scarcely daring to hope even as he wiped the tear from Erik’s face.

“You’re crying,” he said, sounding shocked.

“I’m not crying,” Erik corrected him.  “It’s just…raining.”

“On your face?”

“Yes, on my face,” Erik shot back, his tone full of amusement that didn’t quite cover his disquiet.  But what could Erik possibly have to be….oh.  _Oh_.

“I love you too, you know,” Charles said.

Erik smiled at that and leaned forward to kiss him again.

This time, the kiss was perfect.

* * *

 

Erik handed him a letter the day after his examination, the Fuhrer’s seal at the top.

“Congratulations.  You’re now officially a dog of the military, Good Shepard Alchemist.”

Charles stared at the piece of paper in shock before looking up at Erik, confused.  “Good Shepard Alchemist?”

Erik leaned back against his desk and gestured for Charles to take a seat.  “State alchemists are given a second name by the Fuhrer.  Mine, for example, is the Iron Blood Alchemist.”  Erik stared at Charles contemplatively.  “That’s quite a name, though.  They must have high expectations for you.”

Good Shepard Alchemist, Charles thought consideringly, fingering the silver pocket watch that had been enclosed in the letter.  He rather liked the sound of it.  He’d always liked the idea of being a teacher, and his title had that feel to it.  The sense of guiding others, of helping them.  He smiled.

It wouldn’t occur to him until much later that the Fuhrer had a twisted sense of humor.  For what was a Shepard for if not leading lambs to slaughter?

* * *

Weeks later, finally on their way to see their teacher, Charles curled up next to a Hank made whole once more, staring out at the landscape rushing past, gossiping about their friends in Central, especially the Lehnsherrs.  Though they were more family than friends now.

“I can’t wait to see them again,” Charles told Hank, smiling as he stared out the window.

Elsewhere, Erik Lehnsherr stood in front of him mother’s grave, Emma Frost at his left shoulder, staring up at the clear blue sky.

“It looks like rain,” he said, moisture running down his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW IT ENDS UNHAPPILY BUT THE BOYS DO EVENTUALLY LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER I PROMISE THEY JUST KIND OF HAVE TO GO THROUGH HELL TO GET THERE.


End file.
